


Drop

by Inkfire



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Amnesia, Drabble, Episode: s05e11 The Lodger, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkfire/pseuds/Inkfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy Pond doesn't make sense, never has. But the ring in her hand makes her head swim, shifting shadows that mean nothing and everything. Something is missing. /In which Amy doesn't remember—a tiny drabble set at the very end of The Lodger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop

**Author's Note:**

> Another tiny drabble, set at the end of The Lodger when Amy found her engagement ring in the Doctor's pocket. Enjoy!

There is a tiny ring in her hand, and around it, reality falls away.

Something stirs within Amy Pond. Something that doesn't make sense, doesn't fit; a feeling that she _owns_ something, owns this. That the universe wasn't right all along, because it was missing; she'd just never noticed before.

This is senseless; Amy doesn't own things. She doesn't commit, just waits; doesn't hope and doesn't daydream, just remembers, then plays pretend. Amy always plays, because else things are just too dull. She played Doctor for her whole childhood—with dolls, and shadows that impersonated the Raggedy Man, the only one that mattered.

Shadows. Nothing but shadows, until he came back and showed her the universe. The box must be the Doctor's.

She snaps it shut.

Something is missing. The feeling bothers her, itching beneath her skin. It is old and unpleasantly familiar: something has always been missing. But it shouldn't be, not now, not anymore.

Before the Doctor, she had nothing. Before the Doctor, there was—

Her lungs tighten. Something on her cheek feels cool, races swift. She walks away from the console, tucking the box in her pocket, tightly shut.

She isn't crying. She isn't sad.


End file.
